TimeFate
by Britani Gael
Summary: AU. Seto Kaiba is the miserable pharaoh of the modern nation of Egypt, and his country is falling apart around him, despite—or because of—the “suggestions” of the vizier Pegasus Crawford.


Title: Time/Fate

Author: Britani Gael

Series: Yu-Gi-Oh!

Rating: PG-13

Summary: AU.  Seto Kaiba is the miserable pharaoh of the modern nation of Egypt, and his country is falling apart around him, despite—or because of—the "suggestions" of the vizier Pegasus Crawford.  

Disclaimer: Were I Takahashi, I would make Kaiba either more or less stable (depending on whether I felt like watching him cackle like the lunatic he is), Jounouchi less stupid, and I'd let Yuugi lose a few times.  But I'm not and I haven't, instead I'm stealing his characters in a shameless act of copyright infringement.  I dare you to sue me.

Author's Notes: Third time I've written this.  Every time I've started it, posted it, realized that it sucked and taken it down again.  I probably should have given up by now, but, no, I keep on trying.  This seriously is the last time, though.

* * *

It wasn't fair.

_Shut up._

Why him?

_There isn't time for you to feel sorry for yourself._

Ryou Bakura cringed, and cringed more at the realization that he could be bullied by nothing more than nasty words and empty threats.  All the trouble that _they were going through, and he was a willing puppet.  The weakest tool for the weakest parasite._

Host and parasite.  Disgusting.

Ryou shifted the straps of the small pack on his shoulder, and tried to ignore the beads of sweat that tricked down his face.  He'd been abandoned in the Sahara Desert, something which sounded awful even to someone completely ignorant of the situation surrounding said abandonment.  

Granted, Ryou had never really liked Malik, but he'd known his for his entire life, and had considered him a friend of sorts.  And as angry, bitter and temperamental as Malik might have been, leaving Ryou to die did seem a little harsh.

_You're not going to die.  If you died, how would I get to the palace?_

_I don't care?_

_You should.  If either of them gets there first, you'll be sorry._

Another threat.  What did it matter, really, if the Pharaoh or the…

_Raving lunatic?___

Yes, him.  What did it matter if they got there first?  It couldn't be any worse than if Ryou got there first, bringing his particular spirit with him.  It was the end of the world no matter what.  No real point in taking another step.

_If it would encourage you at all, I'll point out that I would be quite willing to give up all of my aspirations if it meant stopping them._

Ryou paused.  _Why?_

_I'm at the top of their hit list.  Why else?_

Ryou nodded.  Yes, of course.  If there was one thing the Thief valued more than power, it was his existence.  It should have been a sort of comfort, really, since as long as the Thief was trying to preserve his life, he would be preserving Ryou's life as well.

It wasn't a comfort.

_You're going to kill them._ Ryou wasn't accusing him—no it, _it_—he was just stating the obvious.

_Well, I'm damn well going to try!  You haven't the faintest idea of what they're trying to do._

_You make it sound like they're working together._  Ryou left in intentionally vague, "it" could have meant a number of things, just as "they" could have meant a number of things.  The meaning that stood out most to Ryou was that "they" were a group.  He was alone.

_They both have similar goals.  One of those shared goals is to see you dead.  Isn't that motivation enough?_ Apparently the Spirit took "they" to mean the two other spirits.  But the spirits meant something else to Ryou, as well: Yuugi and Malik.

_They're my friends._

Ryou heard something like a hiss in the back of his mind.  _Not anymore, it said, with the mental equivalent of a sneer._

_But—_

_Keep.  Walking._

He'd lost.  Again.  To nasty words and empty threats.

Pathetic.

* * *

**_Twelve days earlier, Thebes, Egypt_**

Seto sank down on the edge of his bed as the last servant filed out of his room, shutting the door behind her.  Now that he was alone, he was under no obligation to pretend that he was anything but a stressed out, miserable wreck.

It was his sixteenth birthday, and the entire country was celebrating.

That had only been a delusion when he was younger.  When he was four he had thought that his birthday was Seto Day, and that the whole world was partying right along with his own household.  Seto Day was the very best holiday.  After all, he got presents on Seto Day.

Now he just wanted to be left the hell alone.

That wasn't an option of course, just a daydream he entertained himself with while the rest of his mind was running through the activities planned for the day.  Meeting, meetings, and more meetings, with a few ridiculous feasts between.  It was the Pharaoh's birthday, after all, time for everyone but him to enjoy themselves.  And then there was tonight…

"Seto?"

Seto glanced up, startled and annoyed that he hadn't heard anyone enter the room.  Might as well write "Seto the Inattentive, Assassinate Me Please" across his forehead.

The boy standing in front of him was perhaps eleven years old, with a mess of black hair and dressed in a pair of ripped up jeans and a striped T-shirt.  He was the only person with both the right and the guts to walk into Seto's bedroom and call him anything less worshipful than "Your Most Great and Royal Highness."

His brother.  No, half-brother.  The small child who'd played a major part in ruining his entire life.  The kid who should be in this mess instead of him.  Too bad he didn't have it in him to be resentful of Mokuba.  He liked the kid too damn much.

Seto dropped his gaze back to the tiled floor.  "Don't you have bodyguards that are supposed to be stalking you?"

"They…got distracted."

His eyes snapped up again.  Mokuba held his hands behind his back, staring up at something on the ceiling with great interest.  He was obviously trying to keep a grin off his face.  Seto narrowed his eyes.  "Mokuba…"

"What?"

"They're on the payroll for a reason."  Not that it made much of a difference, since the country was billions of dollars in debt anyway, but still.  A principle at stake. "If they're not doing their job…"

Mokuba´s eyes widened and he shook his head.  "No, Seto, it's nothing like that.  I was my fault, I—"

"Fix it."

"I will when I—"

"Now."

Mokuba sighed.  "Yes, Seto."  He looked down at his feet, scratching one of his toes in the dirt.  For just a moment, he almost managed capture the pathetic look he was going for.

Now it was Seto's turn to sigh.  "I guess it can wait.  As long as whatever you did wasn't too terrible."

Mokuba smirked.  "It wasn't.  Really."  

Seto gave the boy a second to elaborate.  He didn't.  "And you wonder why they quit," he muttered.  "With every bodyguard you drive insane you just add to the pool of people who might want to kill you."

"I'm just testing them.  Too see if they're strong and resilient and all."

"And are they?'

Mokuba shrugged.  "Dunno yet.  We'll find out soon."

Seto felt a shadow of a smile pass over his lips, barely there and gone in an instant.  Still, a smile was a smile, he hadn't had one of those in a while.  He glanced over at the clock perched on a small stand by the door.  He had about three minutes before he had to be somewhere.  He really should be leaving now, to make it on time.

"I got you a present."

Seto's eyes snapped back to his brother.  "What?"

"For your birthday.  I got you a present for your birthday.  I thought I should give it to you now, because, well, because."

Because the odds were good he wouldn't get another chance until three o'clock tomorrow morning.  Hopefully, he would be asleep by then.  But probably not, not with his responsibilities as prince.  The kid shouldn't have to stay up that late.  Why didn't anyone else see that?

"You have to guess what it is," Mokuba explained, with an expression of mock-seriousness.  "Otherwise, you can't have it."  Mokuba still held his hands behind his back, it must be something small…

"And if I guess wrong?"

"Then maybe you can have it.  If you're really trying."

Seto raised an eyebrow.  "How will you know?"

He looked thoughtful for a moment.  "Well, if you guess something stupid then I'll definitely know you're not trying."

"Oh?  And if I effortlessly guess something that's not stupid?"

Now Mokuba looked puzzled.  "Then…then I'll—"

"A trading card."

"That's stupid.  You don't even like trading cards."

"A statue."

"Huh?"

"Magazine."

"No."

"Marbles?"

"Seto, stop it!"

"Some sort of jewelry?"

"You're not even—"

"Well, I guess if I haven't gotten it by now, it's safe to say I never will."

Mokuba scowled at him.

Seto almost smiled again, before his eyes darted back to the clock.  He should have left by now.  He should be meeting Crawford in less than thirty seconds.  He looked back to Mokuba.  "Well?"

Mokuba spun around, moving his hands in front of him quick enough to prevent Seto from getting a look at what he had hidden behind his back.  "I'm not telling you.  You can find out later."  He started to march towards the door.

"Mokuba…"

Mokuba paused mid-step, and waited.

"I'll…see you tonight."

"Yes, Seto," Mokuba muttered.  He silently walked towards the door, and shut it behind him, much like the servant before him.

Now officially late, Seto stood up.  He wouldn't have an excuse ready, he was the pharaoh after all, he didn't need one.  Crawford would be annoyed, probably, but to hell with him.

He opened the door, and glanced around the hallway outside.  Finding it totally empty, he stepped through, and slammed the door behind him.  The resounding crack was only satisfying for a moment, but a moment of satisfaction was good enough for him.

* * *

He hated it.  Hated it hated it hated it.

The Ring was a ridiculous sort of jewelry, nearly six inches wide and made of solid gold, as was the chain it hung on.  The thin circle was perfectly formed, not a dent or a scratch on it, with five nasty looking spikes dangling from it.  Inside the circle was a perfect triangle, with an eye, of all things, on it.

Not only was it ugly, and heavy, and totally stupid, it was virtually indestructible, something Ryou could testify to based on experience.  Gold was supposed to be soft, easily malleable.  The Ring could've been made of steel.

Ryou had always hated the Ring.  But when he discovered that he couldn't do anything to it, couldn't damage it no matter how hard he tried…then he'd started to be afraid of it.

Afraid of a piece of jewelry.  If Malik found out, he'd never let him forget it.

Ryou lifted the Ring over his head and let it rest on his chest, shuddering at the feel of the cold metal on his skin.  The Ring was required for anything vaguely official, as was the entire Egyptian outfit.  Sandals, eyeliner, the works.

He sighed when he glanced in the mirror.  If he hadn't looked like a freak before, he certainly did now.  Combined with his pasty skin and white hair, the eyeliner made him look like some sort of albino vampire.  And with the Ring gleaming on his chest, he looked almost…evil.

Him, evil.  Ha.

He glanced at the clock, almost nine.  He wasn't supposed to be ready until nine-fifteen, but he liked being early.  The breakfast ceremony was to start at nine-thirty, followed by numerous events throughout the rest of the day.  He probably wouldn't have another moment's peace until sometime past midnight, when he could come back here and pass out until noon.

Today was probably his least favorite day of the entire year.  The Pharaoh's birthday, when the already unstable palace went absolutely insane making sure everything was perfect for His Royal Highness.  Ryou didn't much see the point, as the Pharaoh was bound to hate everything and everyone no matter how many banners they strung up.

With another glance in the mirror and another sigh, he turned towards the door.  He reached towards the door handle, only to jump back and the sound of someone knocking.  Who on earth would be visiting him?  Yuugi, maybe… "Come in."

Ryou took a startled step back as the door swung violently inwards, almost catching his face.  The person that stood there wasn't Yuugi, it was Malik.  It was Malik in his street clothes.  It was an angry Malik.

Ryou had never known Malik to knock.

"H-hello.  Can I help you?"

Malik stormed passed him, and Ryou considered shutting the door.  No, that would cut him off from the outside world, and with Malik that pissed off…

"Probably not, but you'll be more helpful than _him."  Him?  Yuugi, probably.  Malik glared at him.  "Would you shut the Goddamned door?"_

Ryou flinched.  "Yeah, sure…" He moved to close the door, then turned back around slowly, as if Malik was one of those dangerous clawed animals you had to be careful around.  "Malik, you should probably get dressed."

The original look of fury Malik had before was a bit calmer, now he just looked intensely irritated.  "I'm not."

Ryou blinked.  "Not?"

"Not getting dressed.  Not going.  You're not, either."

Ryou blinked again, and then he looked down at his clothes.  "But Malik, I already—"

"You're not _going_.  Idiot."

Trying to process Malik's rather straightforward and simple sentences was becoming quite an effort.  "I'm not?  Why?"

The anger flashed across Malik's face again, before it receded.  It wasn't gone, Ryou was sure of that.  "Because we don't have to."

"Who says?"

"Me."

Ryou chewed on his lower lip.  This was quickly becoming a question of who scared Ryou more, Malik or the High Priestess.  Though Malik was right here… "I don't think that's a very good idea, Malik…"

"I don't really care."  He turned away from Ryou towards the desk, as if the nick-knacks scattered across it were much more interesting than Ryou.  "You're not going."

"Is Yuugi going?"

Malik spun back around, scowling. Ryou fought the urge to jump back against the door.  "Of course Yuugi is going.  Yuugi is a little snotty wise-ass _prick_ who does whatever the fuck they tell him to!"  

Ryou took a deep breath.  "Oh."

"'Oh, is that all?'" Malik mimicked bitterly, turning back towards the table.  He reached out to touch one particular statue, one of the god Anubis sitting on a throne.  Junk really, meant for tourists, Ryou didn't even know how he'd gotten it. 

Malik knocked the statue over, Ryou flinched as he saw one of the ears crack off.  "Why do you keep this shit around, Ryou?"

Ryou shrugged.  Never mind Malik couldn't actually see him.  No matter, he probably wasn't expecting an answer, anyway.

"We aren't going to the stupid ceremony.  We aren't going anywhere.  We are going to sit right here."

"We…we are?"

"Until she comes looking for us."  Malik's confidence seemed to waver just a bit at this, his voice dropped ever so slightly.  This, Ryou concluded, was a good sign.  It meant that there was a chance Malik might want to back out of this.

"She?  You mean—" Ryou could hear his voice shaking.  The potential consequences for this were terrible for him, and even worse for Malik.

"Don't worry.  We're not going to get in trouble.  In fact—"

"Malik, we can't!  The Priestess, she'll…I can't.  We'll get in trouble, we'll get beaten, we'll—"

"Probably.  That's my plan."

"Exactly."  Ryou was talking too fast, a bad habit of his when he was approaching panic.  "And when that happens…hey, you said we weren't going to get in trouble!"

Malik shrugged.  "Nothing serious.  Nothing we can't handle."

"Nothing you can't handle, maybe," Ryou muttered.

"You can handle plenty, and a demonstration of that would probably be good for you.  No one could possibly be as weak as you imagine yourself to be."

_Oh, yes you could._

"I—" Ryou stopped, suddenly flustered.  "What did you say?"

"It was a thinly veiled threat.  Do you really want me to repeat it?"

"No.  I mean, the thing after that.  When you—"

"Sit down."

Ryou hesitated.  "Malik, we can't just—"

A single twitch of Malik's eye managed to turn his whole expression into something best described as "murderous".

Ryou suppressed a shudder, then he walked across the room.  He decided to continue with the dangerous animal theory, and moved slowly, making sure not to turn his back on Malik.  He slowly sank down on the edge of his bed.  "If we die for this, it's entirely your fault."

Malik smirked.  "I know."

For some reason, Ryou wasn't reassured.  Not at all.

* * *

"That child," Jounouchi snarled, "is evil."

The day before yesterday, Honda would have—and did—disagree vehemently with that statement.  Yesterday, he had been unsure.  But today was different.  Today he understood the truth: Prince Mokuba was evil in it's purest form.

"Yeah, yeah, I know," Honda muttered, sliding to the ground.  The room was square, each wall identical to all the others.  They were made out of tiny square bricks, without any distinguishing characteristics as all.  The room was lit with four torches, one in each corner.  In short, there was absolutely no way for them to figure out how they had gotten in here.

They had spent the last hour combing the entire room over, looking for the secret door, or secret switch, or secret something that _must have been there.  How else could they have gotten in, and how else could Mokuba have gotten out?  _

And why the hell hadn't they seen him do it?

"A shortcut, he says," muttered Jounouchi, joining Honda on the floor.  "How would a kid like that know about a place like this, anyway?"

Honda shrugged.  "I doubt he's ever left this place.  He probably knows all sorts of secret passageways."

"Good for him.  Bet you last week's pay he leaves us here to rot."

"Jounouchi, we didn't have a job last week."  And the week before that, and the week before _that_…

"Yeah, and we aren't gonna have a job next week, either."  Jounouchi leaned back against the wall.  "Back to, you know, wherever…"

Wherever was right.  Both Jounouchi and Honda's families had worked for the pharaoh for generations, that's why they'd been picked and trained for the job.  But getting fired…where would that land them?  Washing dishes, on the streets?  Neither sounded like thrilling prospects.

"I don't know that we'll get fired," Honda said uncertainly.  "I mean, it really isn't entirely our fault."

Jounouchi snorted.  "To hell with getting fired.  I quit.  The _fourth time, Honda.  In the last three days.  I don't think I want to stick around to see what stunt number five's gonna be.  Locked in a deep black pit at the bottom of the palace?  'Accidentally' getting mistaken as a thief, and getting sentenced to five years in the dungeons?  Oh, I know, we'll—"_

"I think you're over estimating him." 

"Yeah, yeah," Jounouchi muttered.  "Think anyone would hear a gunshot from in here?"

Honda glanced down at the gun strapped on his hip, one of the three he carried.  An interesting idea, but… "No.  I do, however, think that the bullet would ricochet off every wall in this room until something stopped it."

"Something?"

"Hopefully you.  Could be me, though."

"Oh."  That idea shot down, Jounouchi sighed.  "So we're stuck here."

"Yup."

"Until Mokuba decided to come back for us."

"Yup.  Thanks for the recap."

"No problem."    

Honda leaned his head against the wall and sighed.  He didn't think that Mokuba would leave them here for too long, he'd probably be coming back soon.  Just long enough to irritate them.  

"Bored out of my mind," Jounouchi continued.

"Yes."

"And only you to talk to."

"Don't you have something else to do?" Honda snapped.

There was a few seconds silence.  "Like _what_?"

"Philosophies to ponder?  Women to fantasize about?  A nap to take?"

Jounouchi thought about these for a moment.  "I supposed with those options, I'd have to go with—"

The sounds of grinding stone had both of them on their feet in a second.  Honda recognized it immediately, it was the sounds that had accompanied getting locked in here in the first place.  

No wonder they hadn't been able to catch it before.  The bricks that made up one of the walls shifted and rearranged themselves in about five seconds, revealing a narrow doorway

Goddamned ingenious Ancient Egyptians.

The boy who stood at the door jumped.  He was unusual looking, to say the least.  His hair was no less than three different colors, and he was decked out in black Egyptian robes.  But what caught Honda's eyes was the large golden piece of jewelry on his chest.  

Oh, shit.

* * *


End file.
